Sweet Child Of Mine
by PsYcHo-Me
Summary: Bonding time for a mother and her son. RR Please. :D


**Disclaimer: I don't own The Sound of Music, and I am making nothing off this story. I don't like writing disclaimers. I always have to think about what I do and don't own. Oh yes, the plot is mine. :D **

**A/N: Hello!!! It's me again. Woohoo, I wrote another ficcie! This one is only a short, one-chapter one. Can you guess who is talking with who during this story? I hope you do. :D Anyway, See you at the end. Please review, or email me at :**

PsYcHo_Me_123@hotmail.com

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**Sweet Child Of Mine**

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"Mother!" I hear the child call me from the dining room. A soft smile turns up the corners of my mouth as I picture him, hungrily devouring the nutritious sandwich I convinced him to eat.  

"I am here, darling. Must you yell so loudly?" He looks up at me sheepishly as I enter the room.

"Sorry, mother." He pauses, before plunging on, as most eight year olds would. "May I go and play now?" I pause, pretending to consider, while in fact watching him squirm with the want to go outside to play by the river with his toy boats. 

"I'm not quite sure. I truly would prefer it if you finished the sandwich." He looks at his plate, and I chuckle inwardly at his sweet confusion.

"I have," He begins, but I cut him off.

"You have left the crusts on your plate. You need to eat the crust of the bread if you are to become the big strong man you want to be." 

"I don't _have to eat the-" I cut him short once again, ignoring his protests. _

"I suppose you do not need to go outside and play by the water, in that case." I watch my son hurriedly pick up the bread crusts and begin to chew little parts of it.

"I could always just run a lot. Then I will be strong." I take a seat at the table, my eyebrows raised. He falls quiet again, and concentrates hard on forcing down the soft bread crust.

~*~

"Voooooooooooommmmm. Breeeee-bung!! Nyeowwwwwwwrrrr-TSCHHH!" 

I smile contentedly as I listen to his happy sound effects. He loves the water, and he loves his boats. He is just like his father. I frown as I think of him. I rarely see him, and when I do, he has no time for his family. He seems to put work before us. I shake my head clear of those thoughts, and scold myself for thinking that way.

The environment surrounding us is silent, except for my youngest son's high spirits, which he always shows through his voice. My other child had different plans for the day, and left in the morning. I do not mind the peace, I love the outdoors. 

"Mother, can you fix my boat?" 

"Which one?" I ask in response, as I attempt to brush the dirt of his handsome little suit. I have no luck, it is caked on. He must have been kneeling in the muddy area. 

"Maximus." 

"Darling, you look filthy. How many times have I told you not to play in the mud?"

"Fix Maximus." I look up at his commanding tone, yet another trait he acquired from his father. "Please." He adds hastily, seeing the look on my face. I take the boat gently from him. Some of the paint is peeling from the sides, and the miniature steering wheel has come off. I pick up the round piece in my hand and slowly screw it back onto its rightful place. He beams as I hand it back to him, and I shake my head as he runs back to the river. My smile fades a little as I watch him sit right back into the mud. Sighing, I get the idea that he will never learn. 

Lying back on the soft grass, I watch the clouds swirl above the tall trees. As I unconsciously point out a rabbit, frog and the shape of Austria in my mind, I become aware that my son has lain down next to me, clumsily trying to copy the way my arms are supporting my head. I laugh, prop myself up on my elbow- and poke him in his full stomach. His mouth twitches, but he manages to keep a straight face nevertheless.

"Why are you lying down?"

"I'm not." I reply. He rolls his eyes childishly. 

"Why _were you lying down?" _

"Because I felt like it, darling."

"Why?" Here we go, I think to myself. 

"Do I need a reason? I just wanted to look at the clouds."

"Why?" 

"Because it is such a beautiful day."

"Why?" 

"Let me ask you a question." 

"Why?" I throw my head back and laugh. He can control himself no longer, and his bubbly laughter joins mine. 

"What do you suppose father is doing this very moment?" 

"I don't know." I reply honestly. But he is not satisfied with that answer. 

"But you must know," He insists. "He's your husband."

"And he's your father, but do you know?" I regret answering like that; I said it a little too coldly for my liking. He is silent for a moment. Then-  

"What do you suppose is happening in the world right now?" 

"The earth is rotating."

"What's rot-a-ting?" 

"The earth is spinning around." He rests his little hands on the ground, and after not being able to feel any movement, he puts his ear to the ground as well.

"No it's not." I smile. He so adorable, he never believes anything unless it's right in front of him. 

~*~

After a long silence, and some more cloud-gazing, my dear little son interrogates me some more.

"What do you suppose I'm thinking right now?" 

"I didn't know you could think." I smile widely, but the child scratches his nose, shreds up some grass, and frowns before finally understanding what I mean.

"I do so think!"

"So I see."

"Good. What do you think I want to be when I grow up?"

"An apple tree." I suggest the first word that comes to my mind. He shakes his head. "A blueberry bush?"

"Close."

"I give up dear- you are too tricky." Oh dear, he said he wants to be something close to a _blueberry bush? His brother went through that phase. Now I think he will be some sort of entertainer. _

"I want to be a boatman. I'm going to buy a ship and sail across the ten seas!"

"Seven." I correct him absently. He wants to have a ship? That is even worse. I have never heard of anybody being killed by growing blueberries, but I have heard countless tales of shipwreck and missing sailors. 

"Seven." He repeats. "And do you know what?"

"What?" I ask, my thoughts straying back to the current conversation. 

"I'm going to have a big family, and live on the boat!" So if something happens to the boat the whole family will die. That is just what I need. I am sure he will grow out of it though. I remember that when I was a little girl, I convinced everybody that I was never, ever going to get married, let alone have children. But I changed.  

  "And what is this family going to be like?" He proceeds to tell me, while I fiddle with the hem of my dress.

"My wife will have purple hair and three eyes. Her eyes will be…black. I will have twenty children, and they will all be boys. I'm going to name them…Maximus, Boatman, Boatman Two, Boatman Three-"

"I'm sure they will appreciate those names." He beams, and I continue. "Where are you going to find a woman with purple hair?" He thinks for a moment. 

"I'm going to dig her up. There are a lot of people that live underground. They don't like yellow hair, or orange hair, or brown hair, or black hair. So they have purple hair. And if she doesn't have three eyes, I can paint an extra one fore her." Bless his little heart. He always has had an imagination the size of Europe. His excited jabbering is interrupted by the front gate closing. 

"Father's back!" He jumps up and motions for me to follow. By the time I stand up, he is already racing off at top speed. My son speeds toward his father, who also has my older child with him. 

"Max, dearest. How was your day?" The boy nods enthusiastically and describes how he was able to hear a choir sing. He has always loved music. So has his brother, come to that. I look at my husband, who mutters a greeting.

"Anyhow, I must be off. I will be home in time for dinner." Nice greeting, I think to myself dryly. Before I can reply, he walks away. Both children looked dejected. I hug each one to my side, and look down at them. 

"Hungry, darlings?" Max nods definitely. 

"When I grow up, I want to be a food-tester. Can we have a sandwich?" I notice that his younger brother looks somewhat reluctant at this suggestion.  

"What's wrong, Georg?" He looks up at me with his big blue eyes and looks then to Max.

"Do I have to eat the crust?"

~*~*~

**A/N: Well? *Chews lower lip* What do you think? *Bites nails* Heh. Good ideas (or ones that I think are good) don't often come to me, so when this one popped into my mind, I was pretty dern proud, because I don't think there has been one written of Georg when he was little. This hasn't been beta-d, and I tried to research Georg Von Trapp, but I came up with nothing. I did however find out that Maria was born on a train. **

Oh, and also- are Max and Georg actually brothers- or at least in the movie? I assumed they were, because the kids called him 'Uncle Max', so I figured he was either a very close friend, or an uncle…but where did [Detweiler] come from? I'm pretty sure that's not the spelling, but anyway. Hmm. Well, if someone tells me they are not brothers, only close friends, I'll re-write this chapter if it bothers you. It doesn't bother me, only 'cause I think they are. :P Okay, I'll shut up. Please review, and I hope you enjoyed it. 

Yeah. BTW, I figured that the Captain would have been a carefree child, til after the war, so that's why I wrote him this way. 

Later,

~*PsYcHo-Me 0.o*~   


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